


Snow in Salem: A Veteran's Tale

by SnowySnivy



Series: Snow in Salem [1]
Category: Town of Salem (Video Game)
Genre: Based on a past game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-11-29 15:45:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11444001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowySnivy/pseuds/SnowySnivy
Summary: A veteran war hero for her shoot-first-cry-later attitude is given the chance of a lifetime: move to a new small community where no one knows her name and run her own little shop. It seemed like a peaceful enough way to live out the rest of her life, at least while she was filling out the forms.





	1. Type the name you wish to use

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely based off of my favorite game of Town of Salem that I've ever played- one of my first, actually. The names Snow, creeperguy, Foxy, and Anal Dysfunction were actual names from the game (can you guess who I was? xp), though I can't remember the rest and filled them in with equally stupid names that people give their ToS characters. Please enjoy my silly nonsense.

They let her pick her name, and the first thing she thought of was _Snow_.

 Yeah, snow, that cold white stuff that supposedly fell from the sky whenever it was cold enough. Having been born and raised in the deep south, though she'd never seen it, herself. It had been her dream to see the stuff ever since she was a kid. She loved the clothes you wore when it came, too: boots, furry hoods, leggings. They radiated warmth and comfort. She only ever got to wear her cold clothes for about a week in the middle of the winter, before it once again became too warm to handle, though. It always saddened her when she had to put up that white, fur-trimmed coat at the end of February.

But would the name suit her? Her hair was short and puffy, her skin pale, her eyes big and wide. It could fit. Maybe.

Maybe she should just stick with Lena Reid, she thought as she bounced her knee up and down at her computer desk.That was the name she grew up with, after all, and it seemed a bit disrespectful to her parents to just throw it away without a thought.

Then again, she hated the connotations and attachments that Lena Reid held. Everyone expected Little Lena Reid to die when she was drafted into the war. The one thing they hadn't apparently anticipated was how Little Lena Reid shot and shot through all the gross tears and snot because one thing she didn't want to do was die.

They expected it even less when, three months after her return from war, Little Baby Lena Reid, half asleep and having just woke up from a dream about her deployment, brutally shot and murdered one of those neighborhood teen punks that hopped the fence to her backyard. The neighbors woke up the next morning to find her wailing in the corner of her yard with a shotgun clutched in her shaking arms and the dead teen collapsed in a heap on the ground next to a half-complete graffiti'd wall saying "Make love, not w"

Yeah, she frankly didn't want to be Lena Reid any more.

The Salem Project was meant to provide a start-over, anyway. A tiny, cozy little island up north, with an intended population of only fifteen people. The contributors of the project would provide each "townie," as they were referred to as, with a house and a job to their liking. They had told her she could have a bakery. She had always wanted to pursue baking, but that was something she'd previously never had time for.

Change.

This was for change.

"Snow it is, then," she muttered to herself as she typed the name into the form.

She hit send, and saw her name pop up next to a number one on the waiting list.


	2. Your role is veteran.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are a paranoid war hero who will shoot anyone who visits him.

Snow was busy puking up her guts over the side of the boat while her escort explained once again what she’d heard half a million times and already read and signed all the paperwork for.

“The Town of Salem Project is intended to be a life-long social experiment,” he read off in an almost robotic voice. “You and fourteen other individuals with unique circumstances were chosen to inhabit this specific location. Your community will be checked up on and provided with necessary equipment on the first of every month. You will have access to cable television, though no internet. Any phones or other communication devices will be confiscated; any communication with the outside world will be through letters hand-delivered by the Project’s coordinators during our monthly check-ups. The docs will be manned by a Project coordinator at all times, and one of the participants in the project may only leave if they either are in dire need of medical attention or wish to withdraw from the project. In which case…” He straightened his glasses and peered at Snow, who had taken a break from being sick, over the paper. “Well, you know where you go back to if you withdraw, correct?”

She nodded wordlessly, her head spinning as their tiny boat skipped over the waves.

“Good,” he huffed. “As you know, you and one other townie will be in charge of the baking for the town. There is a detailed manual describing the basics to baking under the front counter in the bakery, as neither of you have any actual experience. In addition, you hold one of the keys to the bakery, as well as House Number 1, which will be your home.” He removed a ring with two keys on it from his pocket and dangled them from his fingers. The faint jingling noise they made over the roar of the rudder only served to make her head hurt more. Seeing how she was more or less incapacitated at the moment, he leaned over to her duffle bag, packed with books, makeup, and a couple of her guns, and slipped them into the front pocket.

“Town meetings should be held from noon to three in the evening, but we won’t press this. You do have a town member whose job it is to coordinate and take notes on these meetings, though, so if these meetings are not being held, then he is more or less slacking on the job, and you may want to pay that in mind. In addition, the members of this town are who dictates what does or doesn’t count as a crime, and it is therefore up to you- as a community- to root out and punish any crime that presents itself, should you so choose, in any manner you- as a community- find necessary. Neither the coordinators of this project nor the governments of any nearby nations will be legally able to punish anyone for anything done in the Town of Salem Project.”

He flipped to the next page and was about to open his mouth when the boat’s driver interrupted. “Hate to speak over you, buddy, but I think the little lady here’s heard this all before.” The man who had been reading off the papers pressed his lips together and glared at the driver, who was grinning and watching the waves ahead of him. “Anyway, you can see the island now. Let’s just turn on the radio, OK? They should be talking about her right about now.”

The man huffed. “Fine.” The driver flashed a grin at Snow, who nodded to him in relief. As the driver went to click on the radio, the other man explained to her. “Two of the townies run a little radio show of sorts. It will be the only radio station you will have access to during your stay.”

“OK…”

Suddenly, the radio clicked on, and music started playing. It was a slow, jazzy tune, and she found it didn’t hurt her head as much as she thought it would. So she listened, leaning over the side over the boat every now and then when her stomach demanded she do so, and watched as a tiny speck appeared over the horizon and quickly grew as the boat drew closer.

When the song clicked off, she heard two voices from the radio, a man and a woman.

“Alllllright, Salem! Sarah, here, letting you all know that pretty soon, our final townie, Snow, will be arriving!”

“Head on out to the docks to greet her. If you want.”

“John and I can see her boat from the tower right now!”

The closer they got, the more she did see a sort of tower poking out from the tops of the trees.

“ _Proctor_ ,” the man reminded her, like speaking to a child. “Since we also have a Jon Snow-” Snow groaned, relieved that someone had apparently picked an even stupider name than hers- really, a _Game of Thrones_ reference? - “-that we’ll be calling Jon. Anyway, music break.”

“My turn to pick a song!”

Snow thought she heard the man start to bark something at the woman before the mic was cut off and an obnoxious pop song that killed her already spinning head clicked on. It was either this or listening to the monotone man read waivers and contracts, though, so she didn't say anything as they approached the island.


End file.
